


Always Enough

by Elizabeth1985



Series: Cockles [11]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, Cockles Cooperative, Cuddling, Hair Playing, Hand Jobs, Kaleo is playing, Kissing, M/M, Misha knits, half-naked, mutual handjobs, ps they are totally wearing Dean and Cas clothes and get come all over them haha, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 09:30:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9715502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth1985/pseuds/Elizabeth1985
Summary: Making time whenever they can, Jensen and Misha spend a quiet moment on break for their own Valentine's celebration. It isn't much, but being with Misha is always enough for Jensen.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I modelled by valentine's fic based off a prompt from [randomdestielfangirl](www.randomdestielfangirl.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thanks to Paula for beta'ing for me!

It’s during the fifth or sixth take that Jensen begins to think about the upcoming break; a necessary hour or more for the crew to set up the next scene. Life has been more than chaotic lately, draining every ounce of spare time and energy he has. Of course, your wife giving birth to twins tends to have that effect. And so, these breaks, they’ve become something more — a solace for a relationship he shouldn’t be so lucky to have. Now, it’s his his only time to be with Misha without being too tired and or too busy to enjoy it. 

When the current scene finally ends, his eyes drift from Jared’s face, faintly catching as his friend’s countenance flips from Sam Winchester back to himself; dire worries etched in sharp lines traded for a goofy grin. 

“Wanna grab a bite?” asks Jared. At six-feet-too-large, the man is constantly on the hunt for calories. Usually of the sweet or meaty variety. 

Distracted, Jensen shakes his head, his eyes searching the faces around him for one in particular. “Nah, gonna find Mish and chill in the trailer…” he turns to his friend, feigning guilt, “I’d ask you to join, but…”

Jared’s eyebrows pop up. “Yeah, no thanks. I like to watch my porn on the internet.”

A laugh breaks through and he gives his friend a jab on the shoulder before walking off. Jensen nods his head to the crew members he passes on his way out to the trailers. Misha has been waiting for his next scene the last couple hours and Jensen wonders if the man will be asleep. Or worse, maybe Misha’s remembered it’s near Valentine’s Day and has plastered construction-paper hearts on every surface of Jensen’s well-kept home-away-from-home. 

It’s an hour past dusk, and only the industrial lights overheard provide any light. Jensen reaches for the handle on the trailer door and squeezes his eyes shut— _ Please no confetti hearts, please no confetti hearts. _

Yanking open the door, he hikes up the metal stairs. The soft harmony of music greets his ears before he can make out anything more. The trailer is quiet otherwise; still, as things tend to be on nights like this. No artificial lights offend his eyes, only the soft glow of about six woodwick candles that Misha has been recently obsessed with. Though, to be fair, doesn't totally hate them. 

Misha is there, lounging on his back on the couch, eyes closed to the music. It would be a peaceful sight, if not for the rapid movement of the man’s hands as he knits a scarf or blanket in fluffy, deep plum-coloured yarn. The blanket—Jensen suspects—already stretches over his torso and lays partly over the navy “Castiel” dress pants. 

Jensen’s voice is quiet. “Grabbing a blanket from the bed would be faster.”

Without looking, Misha smiles. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Ignoring the rhetorical question, Jensen steps forward and bends at the waist—his lips finding Misha’s in a familiar greeting. “Happy Valentine’s day,” he whispers, watching Misha’s eyes flutter open. 

There’s a calm sort of love in the deep blue looking up at him, something developed and comfortable. “I thought of decorating your trailer.”

Jensen chuckles, his hand sinking into Misha’s hair and pushing it back. “I know.”

“But,” Mish concedes, “I’m in a cuddling mood.”

“And a furious-knitting mood, I see.” It will be forever baffling to Jensen how this man can knit entire garments with his eyes closed. Although, Misha’s talented hands have surprised him on various occasions. 

“Well, I have to furiously knit if I plan to finish the blanket before you leave on Thursday.”

Grinning, Jensen reaches out and cradles the finished section in his arms. “Aww, for me? Thanks babe.”

“Ha-ha.” Misha gently extracts the knitted bundle from him and lays it back over himself. “I have something else for the twins, just some stuff Vick and I put together. Make sure I don’t forget to give it to you.”

“I won’t,” he promises, suddenly recognizing the pattern of songs as his favourite playlist. “C’mon, lift up. Let me get in here.” 

Misha eases up, letting Jensen slide into the corner of the couch. His legs are long enough, he can stretch them out across the narrow aisle to rest his feet on the forever-jutting out drawer in a long bank of cabinets. His foot-rest drawer, as he thinks of it. When he’s settled, Misha lays back into the warmth of Jensen’s chest and hums in relaxed contentment. 

Quietly, Misha returns to his pastime as Jensen busies his own hands by running his fingers through Misha’s hair. He loves the intermittent sighs that break past Misha’s lips, loving how it’s usually an unconscious thing. Time lingers without focus, neither of them considerate of how the minutes are passing them by. These are the only moments they get lately, but they’ve learned not to rush it. 

His eyes droop, ears attuned to the smooth melody of the foreign Kaleo track. None of the words are english, though it happens to be one of his favourites. Surrounded by the music and the habitual muted clacks of knitting needles, he settles against the cushions of the leather couch. His head rests back, fingers lazily tracing unknown patterns across Misha’s scalp, the soft hair flopping and slipping under his touch.

It astounds him some days, when he over-thinks and when emotional exhaustion outweighs his stalwart acceptance of this relationship. Fuckin hell, how did he end up here? 

His hand pauses, all his energy diverted into an endless train of questions. Not so much questions, but curious disbeliefs. 

Misha cranes his head back. “What’s on your mind?”

Lifting his head from the back of the couch, he searches Misha’s eyes. “Take a guess.”

A smile pulls at the corners of Misha’s lips. “The horrific state of our country?” he asks with false cheer. 

“Mish. Don’t ruin it.”

There’s a small, but slightly bitter laugh. “Sorry, you’re right. No politics in here—I promise.”

“Good.” Jensen sighs, relaxing again. His fingers resume making a mess of Misha’s hair, knowing it’ll have to be fixed before they shoot the next scene. What a damn shame too, Misha’s wild, finger-tousled hair is the sexiest thing Cas has ever worn. 

Another Kaleo song comes on, a slower one like before, rolling out a bluesy undertone he loves. The song echoes in him the way music often does, a feeling that grows until he’s humming or forming the words in a low cadence. 

It’s not long before Misha stops knitting to quietly listen when Jensen’s voice filters through the trailer. He knows the words by heart, not so much singing them but allowing the song to escape him. 

Towards the end, Misha starts to shift against him. Turning over gently, trying not to disturb them from the calm. The low yellow flicker of the candles highlights Mish’ cheekbones. Jensen loves that face, the wrinkles and character, the broadness of his lips. Even when they’re chapped. 

He stops singing. 

The creak of leather accompanies Misha as he reaches out to guide Jensen onto his back, his legs now taking up precious room on the couch, bracketing Misha on either side. They have zero clue how much time they have. Whatever it is, won’t be enough. But that doesn’t stop them. 

Misha leans over him, capturing his lips in a soft but promising kiss. He feels the scrape of a freshly trimmed beard on his chin, by the edge of his lips, as Misha nudges his mouth open, tongue sliding in. The slick heat of the kiss drags a groan up from his chest, his arms enveloping Mish, dragging him down to feel his weight. 

They settle lower on the couch, the leather creaking in protest. Jensen lets Misha guide the kiss, his mouth pliant and receptive, greeting each shift and stroke of tongue with patience. 

It’s unfortunate to feel the number of layers they have between them, all of it bunching as they unconsciously begin to rock together. Arousal coils in his gut, his hips rising up to work out the tension. 

Misha leaves his mouth, his moist lips cooling to the air. “We probably don’t have time.”

“Mish… this is the only Valentine’s Day we’re getting. They can wait.”

His strangely-acquired boyfriend scoffs. “Uh-huh.”

Jensen settles his arms back over his head, spreads his already gaping knees and rolls his jean-covered erection against the solid ridge at the centre of Misha’s hips. God, he missed this. Not just the sex, but the connection he has with Mish. His entire body tingles, a wave of goosebumps chasing across his skin. 

“Jesus Christ, Jensen.” Misha’s hand wraps around his neck—present but not harsh. “Did you lock the door?”

Unable to hold back the spark of mischief in his eyes, he shakes his head in the negative. 

Misha’s blue eyes widen, his cheeks starkly flushed. “Don’t move.”

He doesn’t. Not even when Misha lifts himself off and treks down the hall to grab something or other. Jensen stops trying to imagine. But he has the faint sense that tonight’s not about kinky fun times, but something deeper. 

His disheveled pseudo-husband returns with a hand towel and a familiar bottle. Neither are put to any use yet, but set on the floor next to the nearly finished purple blanket. Not exactly a father-of-the-year combo, but whatever. 

Misha settles over him the same as before, lips claiming his. Not a second wasted before there’s a clever tongue stroking his, coaxing him to move. His body responds to the familiar kiss, the familiar set of hands that cradle his jaw, slide down his neck and sneak over his chest until deft fingers begin to work open his jeans. 

The leather of the couch is worn on the far side, where Jensen often finds his fingers resting—blunt nails digging at the lightly cracked surface. Misha abandons his efforts on Jensen’s zipper, and drags his palms across Jensen’s chest, stroking up his sides, over his triceps to where his arms bend back over the end of the couch. 

Misha stops. His eyes catching Jensen’s, affection blooming in the moment. “I love you,” he says with a sigh, almost offhandedly. Heat grows in Jensen’s chest, his body straining to hold back the depth of his feelings for this man. 

“I love you too, Mish.”

Their lips greet in a soft kiss. It lingers a breath or two—both of them enjoying the pleasant warmth. 

When Misha rises up a second time, his hands trail down Jensen’s body until fingers are once more working open his jeans. It takes some shuffling on the couch to shove his jeans and boxers down his thighs and no further. Misha rucks up Jensen's shirt, revealing his abs. Or, he thinks to himself, the cushiony layer of fat that now exists on top of those former abs. 

Jensen unconsciously looks away from Misha’s hands on his skin to find his eyes. There’s a spark of thought there, plain in his expression. Misha’s immediate smile is wide, loving. He dips down and lays a string of kisses across his belly, the man’s teeth pinching a spot next to his belly button. 

He can’t help but laugh, his insecurities at growing old and growing stressed washing away with the affection. 

The kisses become less quick, thick lips resting on him longer each time—Misha’s intended path becoming clear. Jensen swallows, feeling his body tighten against the steep rise of pleasure. His cock stirs, jerking at the centre of his hips.

Misha’s eyes flicker up to watch him, holding the eye contact as he presses a salacious kiss to the very tip of Jensen’s growing erection. 

“Fuck…” he sighs, biting his lip as Mish dishes out one kiss after another, further and further down his shaft. The heat of Misha’s mouth, the barely-there pressure of lips, has him hard in seconds. 

Smirking, Misha stares at Jensen’s thick length—eyes no more than an inch away—and says, “Hmm... I definitely love you.”

“Not talkin’ to me are you?” 

As if Misha forgot he was there, his eyes shoot back up to Jensen, “Sorry, what were you saying? I was having a moment with your dick. You know… it’s been a while. We’ve missed each other.”

Jensen laughs, his fingers once more digging at the leather. “It has.”

In a flash, Misha drops the playful tone and frowns. “Too long,” he remarks, his voice tight. 

“Hey.” Jensen fights the urge to pull his arms forward and throw them around Misha. “We said we would take what we get and be thankful for that. We always knew this was...” He stalls, not sure if was about to say temporary or complicated. Truth is, they never had much of a real discussion in the beginning. 

“Was what?” prompts Mish, beginning to chew at his lower lip. 

“Different.”

“That’s not what you were going to say.”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what I was going to say. Fact is, we have this and yeah, it’s not perfect but damn, Mish, it’s pretty damn close in my books.”

A flicker of a smile teases Misha’s mouth. “It is… I’m just experiencing some  _ withdrawal _ lately.”

He teases, “Dick withdrawal?”

“Ha. Nooo…  _ Jensen _ withdrawal.”

Fuck. Misha can be goddamn adorable sometimes. “ _ Ahh. _ Me too, babe. Now, let’s get back to making the most of it.”

Misha glares. His hands drop to his navy pants and he starts roughly yanking open the belt buckle and jerking the zipper down. “Oh, the day I get more time with you…” Misha growls low, eyes scouring Jensen’s body with a possessive edge. 

“Yeah?”

“Sore for days, Cowboy. For daaaays.”

Hmm. Well doesn’t that promise just make a man’s ass tingle. Jensen tries to ignore the obvious hop of his own dick. “Ughhh. Next con. Promise.”

Shoving his pants and boxers to his thighs, Misha levels a look at him. “You’ll regret it. Those chairs are not forgiving on very well used behinds.”

Jensen smiles nearly ear-to-ear, remembering. “You would know.”

“Yes. I would.” He grins back, no doubt picturing all the various ways Jensen took him that weekend. They wound up breaking the towel rack in the bathroom. 

At the same moment, they both divert their attention away from each other’s face. Being pantsless at the hips is one hell of a distraction. 

“This’ll be messy,” announces Misha, carelessly. 

“Good thing I need a wardrobe change.”

Misha smiles, lowering, his arm sinking beside Jensen’s head and using the couch to prop himself up. With a subtle shift of his hips, Misha’s cock—not yet full—rubs against Jensen’s. The heat is potent, along with the immeasurably soft feel of skin on skin. 

A groan rumbles past his lips and he fights the need to cant his hips. Misha is painfully slow in teasing him, letting their lengths drag together. A touch there, a graze here. Jensen’s blood heats in his veins, his body growing damp adding to the overall sensation of slow sex. 

With each passing moment, he feels Misha grow harder, and longer, and thicker. The space between their hips turning moist, heady with scent that rises up to his nose. 

“Mish,” he mumbles, straining in the position he made for himself. 

The use of his name pushes him to another level. Misha’s mouth drops open, his breath moving quickly and Jensen suddenly feels the first bead of precome dribble out onto his own stiff length. 

After a few endless moments of the same, Misha finally satisfies their joint need for pressure, for more. His talented hand slips in between them and tightly wraps around their sex. Jensen’s stiff length is locked in besides Misha’s, squeezed inside a vice of heated flesh. 

He almost comes then.  _ Almost _ . Needing to bite down on his lip to quell the brimming liquid heat inside him. 

“We need…” he breathes roughly “... need stuff.”

Misha nods, half in a world of his own. Jensen says his name again, and gestures with his eyes to the floor. Accompanied by a disgruntled moan, Misha hangs off the couch and scoops up the used sticky bottle of lube. He squirts some into his palm and meets Jensen’s heated gaze. 

“Hold off as long as you can.”

Jensen blinks back at him, his expression set into a calm acceptance. He doesn’t need to truly respond. They have sex down to a science of looks. 

When Misha’s wet hand returns, wrapping around them, Jensen struggles to breathe right. He fights the pace of his lungs, tries not to squirm into the sensation. But it’s not easy. The continuous slide of Misha’s hand, the way his fingers slip over on the way up, the faint sensation of a pulse radiating from Misha’s hot sex. 

Jensen drifts into the pleasure, a tide pulling him under. His brain shuts off. Closing his eyes, he focuses on the hard ridge of flesh trapped against his. He can feel their erections jerking uselessly in the confines of Misha’s fist. Every few seconds, one or both of them loses patience and drives their hips forward. 

The slick, dragging motion unravels him. To feel Misha’s sex flush against his, to feel him this close after so long apart—God—he’s close to tears. But it doesn’t take much these days. 

When he gives Misha the heads up that he’s close, his voice is rough. Not sex-rough, but emotional-overload-rough. 

Without being asked, but knowing anyway, he abandons his restrained position and folds his arms around Misha’s neck, dragging the man in for a kiss. The candle light dims as their closeness blocks it out, and he feels connected to Mish in a way that feels visceral. 

They hover on the brink of a kiss, noses and foreheads touching as their breath mixes between them. 

Misha’s pace slows, their hips grinding into each other. Each movement is dragged out, highlighting every nuance, feeling every smooth line and soft ridge of the other’s cock. 

His entire body pulls tight, muscles flexing with need for release. Jensen clenches his jaw, holding his orgasm at bay. As he traps himself in the suspended  _ almost _ , his stare pierces Mish. Dark blue eyes appearing black in the shadow he creates. Jensen will never understand, not if he lives till he’s a hundred, how being fixed in a gaze with Misha has a way of drowning him in their history. There’s an intensity to it he can’t comprehend. 

It happens then, the exhaustion and stress of his life getting bowled over by how goddamn good he feels here, right now, with Misha. Tears cloud his sight, a faint burn at the corner of his eyes, ready to slide over. 

He feels like an idiot. Crying this way, all because he’s happily in love. It’s not new love, it’s not ‘we’ve just had a fight’ love, or any other justification for being as sappy as he is. 

Jensen fights the swell of feeling in him, arousal and emotion warring together. He squeezes his eyes shut hard, knowingly causing the tears to fall, and opening them again with a clear view of Misha. 

“Just tired,” he whispers, fighting a faint grin. 

Misha says nothing at first, only dips forward to graze their lips. Unshaven cheeks scraping together. His hand falling completely still, only his hips digging inward to cause delirious friction. The tension in his body strains, arousal yanking everything to a breaking point. Jensen's inhales are hitched now, and he’s so close. 

Another slide of Misha’s cock against his, very hot and very damp. 

_ Soooo close. _

Misha meets his eyes, starts to squeeze around him in repetitions. The pressure surrounding his cock rising and falling, Misha’s dick stroking up and down his, and then a low whisper: “Let go, babe… stop holding it off.”

It occurs to him how often he does this—muscles bunched so tight he’s no longer straining for it but holding on too hard.

“Relax, I know you’re exhausted. Just relax.”

A rough exhale charges out of him and Jensen forces his body to go lax. His arms hang from around Misha’s neck—loosely holding on. Legs falling open as much as they can still trapped in jeans.

Lax and unhinged, he comes. The rush of it coursing through him, his body involuntarily jerking to each spasm. Every warm spurt lands at random; on his clothes, the couch, his skin. Everywhere.  _ Just everywhere. _

Granted, it’s been about three weeks. 

Misha basks in the aided slick of his come, fucking into his own hand with fervency. His groans become rougher, shorter… and then silence. Mouth hanging open, eyes tightly closed, Misha comes; gasping for air and curling forward with each surge.

They end up crowded together, clothes bunched and damp in various places. The scent of release sharp on the air. Heaving breaths drowning out the music. 

“Well,” Jensen sighs loudly.

“Hmm…” 

“We need to get up.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Mish. Your  _ Cas _ clothes are getting come all over’em.”

There’s a low laugh, shallow puffs of air against Jensen’s throat. “Your  _ Dean _ clothes are far worse”

“True.” He enjoys the moment for as long as he dares, and eventually starts to push Misha off of him. “Man, we’re gonna get flack for this.”

“Being late? Or getting come stains on our clothes? ... _ Again _ .” Misha smiles as he says it. Jensen can’t help but smirk at the guy. 

“Nah, we’ll just steal these ones.”

Misha stands up and starts to shuck the clothes. “You mean like the trench coat we confiscated after irreparably damaging it.”

He scoffs. “Correction:  _ You _ damaged it.”

Misha’s response is a shade too loud given where they are. “Only because you’re terrible at making knots.”

Smiling down at his feet as starts getting himself in gear, Jensen concedes on that point with a brief look. 

Minutes later, they’re redressed in different clothes and standing in the narrow hall arms wrapped around each other in a casual hug. 

Jensen looks down at him. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Hubby.”

As expected, Misha beams. The occasional endearment sprung up one drunken escapade and has stuck ever since. “Same to you,” Mish replies, his arms tightening around Jensen’s neck. 

Their lips come together in a kiss, music still low in the background. Just as he’s parting Misha’s mouth, his tongue slipping in for a taste, there’s a loud bang on the door. 

“All set!” one of the crew shouts. 

They sigh and pull apart, smiling at eachother. “Back to the grind,” he says.

Misha chuckles. “Funny. Thought that’s what we were just doing.”

“Different grinding.”

“So much more fun.”

“Much more,” repeats Jensen with a wink. 

They exit the trailer, grinning sheepishly at their change of clothes. It was barely two hours together. But it’s enough for now. 

Whatever time he gets with Misha, it's enough. It has to be. There are many things in life he takes for granted... but their relationship will _never_ be one of those things. 

 


End file.
